Firestorm
by River of Oblivion
Summary: Clarke Griffin's journey to the ground began with her locked in a cramped cell awaiting execution for treason. It was fitting, she thought, that it would end the same way.
1. Prologue

_Turning and turning in the widening gyre  
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;  
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;  
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,  
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere  
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;  
The best lack all conviction, while the worst  
Are full of passionate intensity_

 _-William Butler Yeats_

* * *

Clarke Griffin's journey to the ground began with her locked in a cramped cell awaiting execution for treason. It was fitting, she thought, that it would end the same way.

Maybe some would find her resignation disturbing, but she was never supposed to survive her eighteenth birthday, and that knowledge had hung over her head since the day had come and gone in the months after the Mountain fell. Maybe she had just been living on borrowed time.

It wasn't that she was ready to die; no one ever is. There were so many things she had read about Earth; good things, beautiful things. she longed to take in with her own senses. She wanted to experience the raw power of the ocean, to feel the sea spray in her face and warm sand beneath her toes. She wanted to see the land blanketed by winter's first snowfall, to see the exquisite symmetry of a snowflake up close. She wanted to see the children she led grow and realize their potential, to be there when they started families of their own. She wanted more time with those she held most precious. More than anything, she wanted to live, but if this was to be her end, she could at least be comforted by knowing it wasn't meaningless.

She weighed her heart on the scales of judgement and wondered whether her good deeds would be enough to counter the blemishes on her soul. She prayed this last act would tip the balance in her favor, but she had carried the burden of too many terrible choices for too long to know if she had a chance of redemption.

Unknowns, doubts and fears had haunted her since that fateful day she had chosen her father's side in a decision that would rock the foundations of their society, and tear her family apart forever. In the end, had she truly changed things for the better? Would this, her swan song, really make the difference she hoped it would?

Ah, there it was, the word that had her putting one foot in front of the other, which had her rising to meet her fate: hope.

There were many things she would never know for sure, but there were enough things she believed in to make everything worthwhile.

She believed the darkness wouldn't always surround them, that one day her people would turn their faces to the light.

She believed in the strength of those who had fought alongside her, those brilliant souls she felt honored to call friends.

Most of all, she believed in Bellamy Blake.

And those beliefs were worth dying for.

This was her story. She was a girl born to privilege who felt more at home with a group of delinquents than she ever had amongst her peers in the clean confinement of Alpha Station. The same deft hands she had used to save lives had also taken them. She had an iron will, a broken heart, and unwavering loyalty.

Love had never been a weakness; it was her greatest strength.

She was Clarke of the Sky People, and she only had one thing left to give them.

* * *

 _Author's note: Thank you for taking the time to read my first attempt at a multi-chapter story involving these wonderful characters! Any comments you have would be more than welcome. Just in case anyone was confused and thought I owned this particular universe, I must tell you with a heavy heart that I do not own anything associated with the 100._


	2. Ashes

Far in the distance, the first hint of light was finally touching the sky, turning the horizon a hazy gray. Clarke sighed and sat up quickly, the pine boughs in her makeshift bed crackling under her shifting weight. The nights were getting longer, a change she was acutely aware of since she wasn't sleeping through most of them. They were also getting colder, and it wouldn't be long before the sole blanket she had in her possession wasn't going to provide enough protection against the elements.

She wondered if her first winter on the ground would be her last.

Wells would have admonished her for even considering the possibility; but then, Wells would have already found himself a completely weatherproof shelter in a perfect location, and probably had a wardrobe made of animal furs by this point. He was always so much better at this kind of thing than she was.

Clarke tied her blanket into a makeshift sling and half crawled, half scooted her way out of the small cave she called home.

It had taken her a while to find this place, more a shallow hollow worn out of a hillside than a true cave. At the time she had been half drowned and shivering because she'd been paying more attention to the storm inside her heart than the rapidly gathering clouds that heralded a real one.

When she had first left Camp Jaha, she had gone to the dropship, the place where one hundred children had banded together and fought for their survival, where they had grown up and become a family. Her first night was filled with whispers and shadows, the second with memories, and in the morning, she passed by the graves and moved on. The dropship wasn't a refuge without the chorus of familiar voices within its walls.

She had gone to the ruins of TonDC after that, to stand in the charred remains of the thousands of lives she could have saved. Pale and trembling, she'd walked amidst the ashes like a ghost. She had lain down where Finn had burned, silent tears making tracks through the soot on her cheeks. Morning found her curled into herself, aching and weary. She spent the next day digging up wildflowers and carefully planting them in the scorched earth, trying to bring color to a place that was so terribly gray.

Mount Weather hadn't been any better. What force compelled her to return so soon after she'd left was a mystery. She knew she wouldn't find peace, not when she could perfectly recall exactly what she'd endured, and what horrors she'd inflicted in return. She stayed outside the door that had once seemed impenetrable, unable to deal with the eerie silence of the long, dark hallways, unable to face the terrible sight she knew would greet her on level five. The Mountain had transformed from a threat into a tomb, and what it had become was just as terrifying as what it had been. She made a fire, and with the ashes sketched a portrait of Maya on the door's cool metal, whispering choked apologies to the spirits of those she'd executed with the simple pull of a lever.

After that she'd wandered, unsure of what she was searching for, and equally sure she couldn't go back to face those she had tread the path to perdition for. Even as she used the stars and the landmarks for direction, she realized she had never been so lost. There was no clear course for a rudderless soul.

It had taken a breakdown, a sudden downpour, and encroaching darkness for Clarke to realize she would get herself killed if she continued on the way she had been; and then a flash of lightning had illuminated a small clearing with a shelter of solid rock to keep her dry.

She'd been there two months.

Eyeing the entrance critically, Clarke decided she would need to narrow it to keep the colder air from flowing in so easily. Luckily she was planning a trek to the river today, so she would be able to start gathering rocks to stack in front.

Her day always started with a stop at one of her caches for breakfast. Keeping her supplies in different locations was something she had learned the hard way, after a bear had come snooping around her camp and eaten an entire week's supply of berries. This morning's fare consisted of dried strips of seaweed livened by a handful of nuts she had stashed in a hollowed stump. She ate as she walked, keeping to the cover of the trees, reluctant to stay out in the open for any longer than was necessary.

She had come across a Grounder trap in this part of the woods once before, a dead-fall she'd only just avoided triggering. She didn't know which tribe inhabited the area, or whether they were more likely to be friend or foe, but she wasn't taking any chances. It would easier if she never crossed paths with them, but if that couldn't be avoided, she wanted to make sure she wasn't the one caught by surprise.

The closer she got to the river, the more danger she was in. There was no telling who or what she might run into in their search for one of life's necessities, and the rushing water would make it harder for her to pick up on any suspicious sounds. The longer of her two knives hung from her belt at an angle that would make it possible for her to slash as she pulled it free, while the smaller was tucked into her opposite boot, a backup she could remove in the space of a heartbeat.

 _Those are the survival skills I'm good at,_ Clarke thought grimly, _I am adept at destruction and death._

Finally the trees gave way to reveal her destination, and as with every previous visit, she was struck by how beautiful the world could be when one's vision wasn't clouded by monsters and violence.

With one last glance at her surroundings, she crossed the stone flats to the river's edge and tentatively stuck her hand in the water. It had definitely gotten colder since the last time she'd been there. Shrugging out of her bag and jacket, she pulled out her sliver of wood ash soap and quickly washed her hair and face, gasping at the icy sensation. The rest of her bath would have to wait until she could heat the water in the safety of her camp.

Next she filled up her water skins. It had taken a lot of trial and error, but Clarke had managed to craft three of them out of birch bark during her wanderings, something she had been ridiculously proud of at the time. Even now, the memory filled her with a sense of satisfaction.

The corners of her mouth tugged up ever so slightly; Bellamy would have…

Her half smile turned to a frown, and she shook the thought away as she shoved the containers back in her bag.

She quickly gathered as many rocks as she could carry, then started back the way she'd come, the serenity of the place having suddenly lost its appeal.

The added weight made the hike more strenuous, something she was thankful for. Torn between the need to be alert and the discomfort the exertion was causing her body, there was no room for any other thoughts to intrude.

Breathing ragged, heart pounding in her ears, she was just reaching the edge of her clearing when she saw a flash of dark hair and pale skin out of the corner of her eye.

Her reaction was pure instinct; she spun and kicked, dropping her bag in the process. Her foot came into contact with a knee, eliciting a sharp yell from its owner. She used the distraction to tackle the intruder from behind, knife flashing to settle against a now exposed throat.

"What are you doing here?" She panted, adrenaline racing as she scanned the trees for other attackers, "Did you come alone?"

"Clarke, is that you?" The voice was muffled, but unmistakable.

"Murphy?"


End file.
